


Give & Take Ch.15

by kinfic2



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-28
Updated: 2017-01-28
Packaged: 2018-09-20 08:32:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9482930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinfic2/pseuds/kinfic2
Summary: "I'm all out of faith. This is how I feel. I'm cold and I'm shamed,lying naked on the floor. Illusion never changed into something real.I'm wide awake and I can see the perfect sky is torn."©Preven/Cutler/Thornalley





	

**Author's Note:**

> Time frame: Early season 4 (after Brian starts Kinnetik)  
> Alternating points of view: Justin/Brian

** Every relationship is a dance, a series of improvisational steps between two people. Both bring their own practiced and rehearsed movements to the choreography of the union in the form of emotional baggage. Just as each contributes a step or two to the love and harmony, each also contributes to the dysfunction and discord. More importantly, each must take responsibility for their own dance as well, in addition to its effect on the dance au deux.   ** ©Kin

  
  
       Justin woke from his post-orgasmic trance naked and alone. Curled in a fetal position, he scrunched his eyes and prayed the evening had been a bad dream. But rumpled sheets that reeked of sex and the crumpled duvet that lay in a heap on the floor told him it wasn't. He fought for sanity as images scraped his mind like crushed glass, battering his senses with what took place and what was said—proof that hell on earth really did exist.  
  
       Catapulted into full consciousness, something sharp and icy tore at his stomach, jolting him into a sitting position. He doubled up and rocked back and forth on the bed with his arms clasped around his waist, but the pain wouldn't go away. Brian's words repeated like a needle stuck on a vinyl record, sucking him into a quicksand so deep, he couldn't break free. _"Was it as good as your fuck at Babylon, Sunshine? Was it as good as your fuck at Babylon, Sunshine? Was it as good as your fuck at Babylon, Sunshine?"_  
  
       His system shorted like a blown socket. Oh God! Oh, GOD! He knew! He fucking knew! He sat on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, and wrung his hands. Think. He needed to calm down and think. But panic overtook logic when the sound of water from the bathroom filtered through his thoughts. Shit! He's in the shower! Out. He had to get out of the bedroom, out of the loft.  
  
       Brain and body finally in sync, he leapt out of bed and groaned as his muscles protested the sudden movement. He darted around the room, tripping over a sneaker in his haste, and gathered his scattered clothes. With teeth chattering from a chill that had nothing to do with the loft's temperature, he tried to dress but his hands and arms wouldn't cooperate. Damn, everything was taking too fucking long!  
  
       Fuck! Keep it together. Just a little longer. Straining to hear the safety net of running water over the thunder in his brain, he rushed out of the bedroom, but his legs buckled on the last step. He sat with his head between his knees, sweat beading his forehead, and dragged oxygen into his lungs as he fought the nausea and dizziness. After a few measured breaths, he gingerly stood with a hand on the dresser to steady himself. He tested his balance. His feet seemed to support his wobbly form. Okay, he could do this. But when the shower stopped, the silence was a frigid immersion into stark terror. His heart vibrated with fear. He was out of time.  
  
       Blinded by the sting in his eyes, he raced toward the door and stumbled over his backpack. He scooped up the bag with a muttered curse, flung his coat over his arm and fled into the night...running. He didn't slow his pace, didn't take a normal breath until he was two blocks away. Only then did he allow himself to do what he needed to do—he threw up.  
  
                                                                                                          * * *  
  
_"Desperado, why don't you come to your senses? Come down from your fences and open the gate._  
_There's a rainbow above you. You better let somebody love you before it's too late."_ _© Henley/Frey_  
  
       I'm sitting on the bathroom floor, naked, drenched in sweat, with my hands around my knees. The fucking shower's running and I don't know why. I think I turned it on, but I don't remember. I don't even know how long I've been here.  
  
       I'm trying to make sense of who I am, who I've become—and I can't. I've now lost the one person _who actually meant something to me._ Talk about an accomplishment! He was the one person who tried to understand and accept the real Brian Kinney, even though I did my best not to let him get too close, not to let _me_ get close. That I almost destroyed him without his suspecting hits me with the force of a runaway freight train. Fuck! The ugliness of what I did blows my mind, and its savagery crashes over me in giant waves. I want to vomit. Who the fuck am I?  
  
       Brick by brick, my walls are crumbling under the weight of the truth. I'm out of excuses, out of platitudes, out of masquerades. There's only one way to end this—and it has to end—if I want to live.  I know he's worth it. But am I?

  
****Pain stayed so long, I said to him today, "I will not have you with me anymore. Be on your way." I paused, startled at the look he wore.  
"I? I who have been your friend?" he said to me. "I, who have been your teacher? All you know of understanding and love, of sympathy and patience, _I_ have taught you. Shall I go?"  _Unknown_  


CONTINUED HERE: <https://archiveofourown.org/works/9921080>

 


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